


and if we don't finish today, we've always got tomorrow

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-22
Updated: 2009-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Effy doesn't need anyone; Naomi does. It's what makes them different.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if we don't finish today, we've always got tomorrow

  
they want me. i want you. and you want someone else. but none of us want to turn around.  
\-- _pleasefindthis_

 

 

 

She's rung Naomi three times by now; it hasn't done any good.

I'm sorry for what happened at Pandora's party, she tells Naomi's voice mail, and it's a fucking lie, because she's _not_ sorry for what happened, doesn't think there's anything to feel sorry about, kissing Naomi like that, but she knows also that Naomi is _not her_ and probably _does_ think that Emily should feel sorry about it, like she did something horrible and wrong and they weren't high and completely pissed.

The fourth time she calls Naomi that weekend, she hangs up after the first ring. There's no fucking point in calling, she thinks, and resigns herself to moping about upstairs in her room all day until Katie gets back later that evening and wants to know if Emily can do their English homework for her, because she's got a date, and it's not like she's doing anything, is she.

In her notebook, she's got all these tiny little hearts with _n_ -s in them, in the margins next to her notes.

It's fucking pathetic, is what it is.

 

;;

 

Effy gets it, though.

Effy slides up to her after Politics class (she hadn't been able to take notes all fucking class, had been too busy staring at the back of Naomi's head and trying to work up the courage to go talk to her; she hadn't been able to) while she's putting her books away into her locker. Says, She's a cunt, you know, but you shouldn't let it bother you. You will anyway, but you shouldn't.

Emily almost asks who, but it's obvious that Effy's referring to Naomi. She nods mutely, grabs her History book out her locker and drops it into her canary yellow bag. Yeah, sure, she says, closes her locker, turns to look at Effy, and fuck if Effy doesn't have some of the most beautiful eyes she's ever seen.

(Later, Emily will compare her eyes to Naomi's; Effy's are a more brilliant, intense blue. Naomi's are softer, like dove feathers. More of a grey-blue like. But Effy's -- Effy's are sharp. Strong.

Effy doesn't need anyone; Naomi does. It's what makes them different.)

 

;;

 

Later, at a club, she runs into Effy in the bathroom.

Effy says, How is she, then? and Emily shakes her head unhappily, because Naomi's still avoiding her and Effy just stares straight at her, with those sharp blue eyes, sees right through her. And then she kisses Emily, just like that, where anyone can see them, and it shouldn't feel this nice, but it does, and she can't keep herself from kissing Effy back.

It's so fucked up.

 

;;

 

They never speak.

Well, they almost never speak, Emily thinks. They don't talk about anything that matters, always just yes and please and don't stop and none of it actually like counts as talking, she doesn't think. But then, she's pretty sure she likes it best this way, lying in Effy's bed on her back, her hair tangled and her makeup smeared, while Effy lies beside her and blows smoke rings up at the ceiling.

Everything's different with Effy.

She can't imagine lying in bed beside Naomi, watching smoke drift upwards, fading slowly into nothing as it does so. She can't imagine this sort of silence, where everything's alright without it not actually being alright, but they both know that it's better than talking, so they keep quiet. She can't ever imagine silence with Naomi, actually. It's so different and terribly fucked up, but she can't do a thing to change it.

(Or won't, Emily thinks, a part of her annoyed at her romantic inaction. Or maybe she just doesn't want to try to change things, she thinks.)

If you want her, you should chase her, Effy says.

Effy knows about wanting. About love. About being chased, but not chasing.

 

;;

 

Naomi runs, of course, because that's how these things go, and it's not like Emily minds chasing her, not too much, anyway, but she's slowly starting to get tired of it. She just wants to stop for a bit, rest, catch her fucking breath, and she's fairly certain that's how she's ended up in Effy's bed again, with Effy trailing kisses between her breasts, down her stomach.

(She can't catch her breath when she's with Effy either, with kisses that leave her breathless, but she minds it less, because it doesn't make her heart pound too hard or fast and Effy's fingers don't feel like fire licking across her skin, only soft and maddeningly slow.)

And sometimes she accidentally sighs Naomi's name and sometimes she says Effy's or a combination of the two, but most of the time she's just quiet.

It's better to be quiet, anyway, she thinks, and is fairly certain that Effy can feel her heart beating in her chest when she covers Emily's breasts with her palms, and sometimes she can hear Effy's heart, when she noses Effy's hair away from her neck and kisses the bare skin there and it smells like soap and sweat and she can taste salt on her tongue and she thinks about kissing Naomi, who always tastes of spliff and vodka and whose skin isn't freckled and whose eyes aren't quite as bright and shining.

Stop thinking, Effy says, like she can read Emily's mind, and she tries very hard not to, think, but her heart likes to get the better of her and she can only stand it long enough to kiss Effy very slowly and gently before climbing out of bed and tugging her clothes back on, which are all horribly wrinkled and she hopes that no one will notice when she gets home, because she doesn't know if she'll be able to lie and say that it's not what they think, because it is, only they don't know who with and it hurts, a little, in a way unexpected.

 

;;

 

Why do things always get so fucked up, Emily says, as Effy sits very still, exhales a mouthful of smoke. Why do the people we love always have to let us down?

People are fucked up, Effy says, and of course it doesn't make her feel any better, but she wasn't exactly expecting Effy to comfort her. It's enough, anyway, she thinks, when Effy's hand seeks out hers, fingers sliding between fingers, and it's so unexpectedly soft and sweet and so very unlike Effy that she feels like crying. Effy doesn't look over, just finishes her cigarette and stubs it out in the green-glass ashtray on her nightstand.

I really do love her, you know, Emily says, and Effy says, I know, and Emily wonders if it hurts, to have to hear someone that you're fucking say that they're in love with someone that isn't you, and she feels like a cunt for saying it, but it's right there, pressing up against her chest, and well, she can't _help_ but say it, because it's true, and it's not like she doesn't care for Effy, because she does, it's just that --

Things are different. Effy is different.

Effy leans over, kisses her as her hand moves forward, grips Emily's hip, pulls her in closer, and Emily puts her hand on Effy's shoulder, to steady herself, and Effy tastes like cigarettes and vodka and cranberries and it's all too much, with Effy's fingernails digging into her skin, kissing her so hard that her lips feel bruised.

I know you love her, Effy says, and when she pulls away, Emily kisses the base of her neck, her collarbone, and Effy says, You don't always need to say it, you know. You shouldn't. Words fuck things up.

People fuck things up, Emily says. Effy's hand slips to her thigh. Emily moves back up, kisses Effy firmly on the mouth. It's people that fuck things up, not words, words don't mean anything, it's the people who say them that make them bad, she says, kisses the space below Effy's ear, and Effy's hair smells faintly like lilacs and she has to fight the sudden tightening of her chest that makes her want to cry.

It's best not to talk, Effy says, kisses the corner of her mouth, slides her hand inward, fingers brushing along the inside of Emily's thigh, and they're quiet for the rest of the night, Emily biting down on a knuckle to keep from moaning and whispering desperate, urging things.

 

;;

 

Naomi ignores her, in that way that Emily's gotten used to; Naomi looking away when their eyes meet, Naomi ducking into another hallway or into a classroom or the bathroom when Emily spots her in between classes. And it hurts, more than a little, and she's had all of middle school to get used to this, she thinks, but it doesn't make her feel any better.

And then one day Naomi slides into the seat next to her in Politics class, doesn't offer an explanation, but halfway through class she leans over and writes something down in the margins of Emily's notes.

Let's hang out, sometime, it says, and it makes her feel stupidly happy for the rest of the day, and it's at least a tiny step forward in the right direction, more than she could ever hope for and less than she wants, but she'll fucking take it, because it's better than nothing at all. And it doesn't even make her feel any less happy, when Katie blows her off again and she has to walk home on her own.

She listens to Death Cab for Cutie on her iPod and lets herself think that maybe this is the start of something.

 

;;

 

So, Effy says, and it's the most she's said in the past two days. So, what are you going to do?

See her, obviously, Emily says, takes the fag away from Effy and takes a long, hard drag of it, letting the smoke escape from her lips slowly, as she exhales, before handing it back; Effy finishes it, flicks it aside. It lands on the dirt somewhere along the edge of the walking path in the park. Emily leans back on her hands, feels the coolness of the grass and the length of it and how soft it feels and the sky is such a nice blue colour, she thinks, and lies down, staring up at the clouds, power white.

What if things don't work out? Effy traces the shape of a star on her thigh. Emily twitches; it tickles, a bit.

What if they don't? She says, lazily, closes her eyes, and she can sense Effy hovering somewhere above her, breath hot on her skin, neck, and then Effy kisses her ear, lightly; she smiles, reaches out blindly for Effy's hand. Effy catches it, runs her thumb over Emily's knuckles. They will work out, Emily says, though she's not even sure of her own words. Naomi will get it, one day. That I love her.

You're _in_ love with her, Effy corrects.

Emily makes a small sound of agreement, pulls Effy's hand up to her mouth and kisses the back of it, her wrist, lets both her hand and Effy's fall back down, onto the grass, and she can feel the world spinning slowly beneath her and it makes her feel dizzy and light-headed.

I like you, Emily says, slowly, listens as Effy shifts beside her, the clinking of coins in her pocket as they slide and knock against each other. You're not just anybody.

Nobody is, Effy says, kisses her lightly.


End file.
